Your erotic stories

Although Jo took Ann to the same area several more times following their encounter with the voyeur, the man never reappeared. At least, not physically. But he remained vivid in Ann's imagination. At home, Roger's attentions continued to be spasmodic and unsatisfying, and while meetings of the Friday Flower Club, supplemented by private sessions with Jo, delivered orgasms of varied intensity, Ann was growing conscious of something missing.

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My preference is for stories are all about the sex rather than with vast amounts of background, so this is in that vein. The plot is based loosely on a story I read many, many years ago; I don't recall the author or title. I'd love to say this happened to me but that would be ludicrous: the scenario is a sexual fantasy and not meant to be completely realistic.

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"So?" Jason asked as he rolled up at the bottom of the drive on his mountain bike. Robert held up his phone, showing the message from his older brother with two specifically capitalized words in an otherwise innocuous message — care package. "Sweet. Let's roll." The pair set out on the gravel road, riding even deeper into the middle of nowhere. Living out in the country certainly had its disadvantages, but there were a few things that helped offset the boredom and inconvenience. One of them was the lack of prying eyes.

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Let's start out with a joke this time, to evoke a light-hearted mood. The guy goes to the check-out counter of the supermarket with a salad for one, a pre-wrapped sandwich, and one can of soda. The cute young clerk eyes his purchase and says to him, "You're single?" The customer grins and nods his head. "You can tell by my meal, huh?" And the girl says, "No, you're fuckin' ugly." It was that round, tight, perfectly sculptured bubble ass that caught my eye in aisle six of the Food Lion in Fairfax, Virginia.

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It was the Friday afternoon, before the Holiday Weekend, and I was driving the car to the ‘Biker Rally’ and ‘Rock Festival’, when I realised that I had a ‘slow puncture’. My husband, Craig, had set off earlier, on his new Honda 750. My mobile phone couldn’t receive a signal, so all I could do was sit by the side of the road; smoke a cigarette and wait for help.

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Sandra shook her head and sighed as she listened to her daughter talking to her boyfriend in the next room. "You have got to be kidding me, right?" "C'mon Jen, it'll be fun. Ron and Angela and Wendy and Greg will be there." "A stupid protest? Please." "We could end up on T.V."

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I lay in the bathtub, watching steam rise from the warm water. I should have felt relaxed, but I did not. I waited apprehensively. Nothing could calm my nerves. Not the dozen candles that lit the bathroom. Not even the New Age CD that filled the room with the comforting sound of the ocean washing against the shore.

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Here's another story for you guys that's been bouncing around inside my head for a while. Hope you enjoy. All characters are over the age of eighteen. Hi, my names Richard Williams, Rich to my friends. I live in southern California with my mom Stacy. My dad died when I was too young to remember. The accident that killed my dad, while tragic, was made less so by the size of the settlement his company paid my mom.

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I'm going to do what they say people of my age (the thick end of sixty plus) are best at; I'm going reminisce about my youth. For me this was towards the end of the nineteen-fifties, when rock-and-roll ruled over drainpipe trousers and drape jackets and everyone jived to Elvis, Little Richard, Chuck Berry, etc. In England it was the time of the 'ton-up boy' who rode motorbikes with British names and who wore leather jackets liberally sprinkled with metal studs.

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I've always felt attracted to younger men. Some time ago, there was family living next to me in our small neighborhood. This was several years after my husband had died. I'd finally begun to feel somewhat whole again and yet the loneliness was getting me down. I had sexual cravings I hadn't felt in a long time and thought I'd go crazy if they weren't satisfied by someone, and soon.

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